


Of Divorces and Desserts

by helsinkibaby



Series: Stolen Moments [2]
Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo and Ainsley go out for coffee. Second in the "Stolen Moments" series</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Divorces and Desserts

After I say goodnight to Margaret, I let the door close behind me and make my way slowly down the hall, thinking about my assistant. Who frequently drives me crazy, but who has the biggest heart of probably anyone I know. She worries. Yes, about whether the sun will come up, like I said to Donna earlier, but also about me. I know that. Let's face it, it's not like I haven't given her good reason. She's been my assistant for years. She knew about the bottles in my desk, in my filing cabinets. She knew about the stashes of pills, she even picked up my prescriptions for me. She cried the day I told her that I was going into rehab, and I didn't know if they were tears of relief or tears of sorrow that things had got this far. Turns out, as she told me later, it was a little bit of both.

So it's hard for me to be annoyed at her when she told what seems like the entire White House that my divorce papers came through today. She was afraid that I was going to fall off the wagon, because she knows how the whole separation thing affected me. She worries about me.

She's a good girl.

Out of habit, I'm taking the long way around, going through the bullpen on my way out. Josh's door is closed as I pass, and I almost reconsider his offer of coffee before deciding better. Josh has his own fair share of demons to deal with. He doesn't need to be burdened with mine too.

I'm all ready to continue on my merry way when a movement catches the corner of my eye. Turning, I see Ainsley Hayes of all people packing up her laptop and books.

She's another good girl. I was sceptical of hiring her, I admit that. And I really didn't think that she'd take the job. But within a few minutes of interviewing her, I knew that I was wrong. And it has nothing to do with not being able to understand a word that came out of her mouth - although sometimes, with the Senior Staff around here, I can see how one might think that that was a prerequisite for the job. It was more the passion that she spoke with, how she was adamant that she opposed everything that this White House stood for, and that she would never compromise her Republican values to work here. So, I did what Jed suggested. I appealed to her sense of patriotism. And it worked too. Not a week ago, she stood in a meeting with Sam and a bunch of Republicans and told them that politics should stop at the water's edge. The girl catches on quick.

Not that it's been easy for her. Sam told me about what those two jerks did to her. And when I talked to her about it later, even though she tried to play it off, I could see how much it rattled her. It's a good job Sam fired them. If I'd had to do it, I wouldn't have been responsible for my actions. And I could see how much it meant to her that Sam and the others decorated that dungeon that she calls her office. I'm glad that Sam organised that. It shows that she's getting under his skin, that he's slowly accepting her. I figure that if she can get around him, having kicked his ass on national TV, that getting the rest of the White House to accept her should be a snap.

I find myself going over to her, and she starts slightly as she sees me. "Leo!" She sounds surprised to see me. "I thought everyone was gone for the night."

"I’m heading home now," I tell her. "What has you working up here?"

She shakes her head. "My office was like Florida in Indian Summer. Which I could handle, thanks to the fan you saw earlier. But Donna was down there earlier on, and she said that I could come up here, and work. Not that I wanted to because I really wanted to just stay where I was and get all this work done. But then, the steam pipes started banging, and you have absolutely no idea the amount of noise that they make, so even the bullpen would have been quieter than that racket, so here I am."

I swear to God, she didn't breathe during that whole sentence. That's incredible. I'm in awe of that when I realise that I have to speak next. "What are you working on?"

"Research for Josh, about the Defence of Marriage Act. The constitutional implications, full faith and credit." She shrugs. "I'm almost finished."

I nod. "I'm not sure how useful that's going to be," I tell her, cursing myself as her face falls. "The President's going to stick it in a drawer."

She opens her mouth to say something, then, maybe remembering who she's talking to and where she is, shuts it again. "OK then. I'll finish it at home tomorrow and give it to him on Monday. You never know."

"No, you never do." She's talking about filing papers for future use, but I'm suddenly thinking about my marriage. Or the lack thereof.

I must drift off for a minute because I hear her saying my name, trying to get my attention. "Are you ok?"

I nod. "I’m fine."

"The only reason I ask is that I was talking to Donna, and she happened to mention…"

I raise my hand to cut her off. "I'm fine."

She bits her bottom lip, doubt written all over her face. "Are you sure? Because if you want to talk…"

I look at her for a moment. Jed all but asked me the same question earlier. So did Margaret, and Donna and Josh. And I told them all no. So I'm going to tell her no too right? I'm going to tell her no, I'm going to pick up my case, I'm going to turn around, and I'm going to go home.

Instead I hear my voice saying, "You want to get coffee someplace?"

She grins. "I'd like that." She stands up and it's my turn to look surprised. I know it's not possible, but she's shrunk.

Seriously. She's a good couple of inches shorter than she usually is.

Looking her up and down, I figure out why. She's not wearing her usual work outfit; instead she's changed into a grey top and sweatpants, and she's got track shoes on instead of her usual heels. It's not what I'm used to seeing her in, and it must show because she gets a worried look on her face and she asks, "Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all. It's just-" And I have to ask to make sure. "You weren't dressed like that earlier, were you?"

She looks down at herself, blushing slightly. "I changed because this was cooler…I didn't think it would matter, since it's Friday night and almost everyone had gone home…" Her voice trails off uncertainly and I jump in to reassure her.

"It's fine Ainsley. I just wanted to check that my eyes weren't playing tricks on me." That makes her smile again, a genuine smile that I decide I like. "C'mon. Let's go."

On the way out, she indicates that she's more than happy to leave choosing the place to me, and I direct her to a coffee shop that's in walking distance of my place. That way, I can get my guy to drop me off. He's done it before, when I've left the office early, well, early for me anyway.

I get there before her and study the menu, more out of habit that anything else. I've long since memorised all that's on it. She arrives a couple of minutes later, smiling again as she sits down across from me.

Yes. I definitely like that smile.

We exchange small talk about traffic (still heavy, even at this time of the night) and parking (usually horrendous, but she got lucky) as she looks at the menu. Our waitress comes over, disgustingly chipper given the late hour, and very helpful. I order a cappuccino and Ainsley orders a decaf mocha latte.

"Decaf?" I ask.

She nods. "Otherwise, I'll be bouncing off the ceiling." I think back to conversations that Ainsley and I have had in the past and decide that decaf was a good idea. If she can be that hyper without caffeine…well, the imagination fairly reels.

The waitress waits without comment, then asks the fatal question. "Would you two like dessert with that?"

Ainsley's eyes light up like a drowning man spotting land. "Ooh, that sounds good. What do you have?" The waitress rhymes off a list of assorted cakes, and Ainsley's face is a study of concentration, before she settles on the chocolate fudge cake. "With cream. And fudge sauce. Please."

The waitress smiles and looks at me. "I'll have the cheesecake."

When the waitress leaves, Ainsley sits back in her seat, looking around her. "This is a nice place."

I look around at her words, seeing the surroundings through her eyes. I've been in here so many times that I don't notice the décor anymore. There's a bar at the far end of the room, and the walls are lined with couches and soft chairs placed around tables. In the centre of the room, where we are, there are tables and wooden chairs. I chose those on purpose - if I sit in one of those couches, I get too damn comfortable and don't move until they start putting up the chairs. "Yeah it is," I reply. "I only live a couple of blocks over, so…"

"You come here a lot?"

"Sometimes." I hear myself sigh. "It's easier than being alone in my apartment."

"Have you been living here long?" Her voice is soft, hesitant, as if she's not sure whether she should be asking the question or not.

"About a year. I was in a hotel for a while - I wanted Jenny to have the house. Not that I'm around here much. I seem to spend most of my time at the office."

"Tell me about it. I've already killed more plants through neglect in a few weeks than I have in years."

I smile at that. "Yeah. But it was my marriage that I killed."

Ainsley frowns, tilting her head. "But…I don't mean to speak out of turn, and I don't know your wife, so forgive me…but you were Secretary of Labour. You've been in politics a long time. Didn't she…"

I nod as she speaks, and her voice trails off. "That's what I thought. That she'd understand. Turns out she didn't. And by the time I realised that, it was too late. She'd already left me." The waitress putting down our order stops me in mid-thought, and I continue when she leaves. "I think that she just got tired. Tired of playing second fiddle to other things in my life. If it wasn't politics, and the campaign, then it was booze and pills."

She's chewing on a mouthful of chocolate cake. "And she wasn't prepared to take it anymore?" At least, that's what I'm pretty sure she said.

I sigh, pushing a piece of cheesecake around the plate. "I forgot our anniversary," I admit, the memory even now evoking a pang of guilt. "And I tried to make it up to her. Turns out it was a bridge too far. She told me that she couldn't do it any more, couldn't wait up for me, couldn't live with being second best. I told her that what I was doing was the most important thing I've ever done."

She interrupts me with "It is."

"She told me that it wasn't more important than my marriage. I told her that for these few years, it was."

She swallows the bite she was chewing and her fork drops onto her plate with a clatter. "Wow," is all she can manage.

"Yeah." I'm feeling quite depressed now. There's a reason why I was able to give her so much detail just now - I can remember every word of that conversation, every expression on Jenny's face, every emotion that went through me.

"And there was no chance of reconciliation?"

"I begged her to reconsider. But once Jenny's made her mind up…" I shrug, indicating that there's no changing her mind.

"I'm sorry." Ainsley's voice is back to that soft hesitant tone again, and her hand's found its way on top of mine.

"Me too."

We sit in silence for a moment, just like that, just looking at each other. I'm not sure why I told her all this. There's just something about her that made it seem like a good idea. I don't know why I chose her, rather than Josh or Margaret or Jed. Maybe it's because she hasn't heard it all before, doesn't have an opinion about it either way. She's an unbiased observer, a neutral party.

Maybe that's it.

Or maybe it's just her.

I mentally shake myself the moment that that thought takes root. That way lies madness. Or scandal and Grand Jury investigations, which could be worse.

But in spite of that, I find myself curious about her, so I pick up my cup and take a sip, affecting casualness as I break her gaze. "What about you?"

"What about me what?"

"You're not married." I knew that from her FBI file. "But I don't know anything else about you. Except that you were thinking of getting a pet."

"Well, I'm not married, as you said. And I'm not getting a pet, because, really, where would I find the time? And I have the same rationale when it comes to men."

I find myself nodding, not able to fault that particular piece of logic and not questioning closely why. "Ever been close? To getting married I mean."

"Once."

"What happened?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I didn't." She says no more, and the look on her face tells me that whatever secret is in her past, it's going to stay there. I look around for a change of subject, and find it on the table.

"Your cake looks good," I observe, reaching my fork over. "Mind if I-"

I don't even get the question finished before the plate is yanked closer to her. "Forget it."

"Ainsley!" I can't fight the smile that's spreading across my face at the pure indignation on hers.

"I'm not sharing Leo."

"Oh c'mon, one bite."

"You've got your own."

I shake my head. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to share?"

"I'll share anything Leo. Except dessert." There's a smug little smile on her face.

"Fine." We lapse into a companionable silence as she polishes off the last of her cake and I pick at mine.

"That was nice," she tells me a couple of minutes of silence later.

"So you say."

Anyone who overheard that would think I was pissed about not tasting her cake, but she knows I'm kidding. The look on her face makes me sure of that. "I'm not just talking about the cake." She says it so softly that I'm not sure for a moment if I imagined it, but there's a tell-tale redness on her cheek that puts paid to that notion.

"I know."

She grins. "May I ask you a personal question?"

I can feel my eyes widen. What does she think we've been doing so far? "Shoot."

"Are you going to finish that cheesecake?"

My mouth drops open, and I'm speechless before a burst of laughter erupts. Wordlessly, I slide my plate over to the middle of the table and we share the remainder. I don't know how long we'll sit here, sipping coffee and talking, but I do know that I'm enjoying it.

Whatever it is.

But whatever it is, I'm pretty sure I could get used to it.


End file.
